


Tony and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week

by Potrix



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Babies, Crack Treated Seriously, Eggpreg, Established Relationship, Fluff, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Mpreg, Naga, Oblivious, Omega Tony Stark, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Avengers (2012)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 14:22:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12706755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/pseuds/Potrix
Summary: “What’s wrong?” Bucky asks, propping himself up on one hand, and gently rolling Tony onto his back with the other. “Are you hurt?”Tony looks soft and sleep-rumpled, mostly, and maybe a little paler than normal, though it’s difficult to tell in the dim light. Bucky brushes his hair back, then presses the back of his hand against Tony’s forehead. “It’s not time for your heat yet. Is it? You feelin’ sick?”“Not really,” Tony says, and takes Bucky’s hand, moving it to lie just below his belly button. “It’s just my stomach, feels kind of bloated.” He grins, tongue-in-cheek. “Probably from Clint’s chili last night.”Or; Tony has a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week. But at least it ends with a happy surprise.





	Tony and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheKingOfSorrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKingOfSorrow/gifts).



> This is a very belated birthday present for [IfIWereMagneto](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ifiweremagneto), who wanted more of [Nāga Tony and Bucky](http://imaginetonyandbucky.tumblr.com/tagged/N%C4%81ga). If you haven’t read the first part, my inspiration were the [Nāgas mentioned in Hindu culture](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/N%C4%81ga#Hinduism), but I’m totally picking and choosing, here. Basically, in my A/B/O ‘verse, they’re snake shifters living normally among humans.
> 
> Set in a nebulous, alternate universe, set after Avengers 1, with everyone happy, alive, and still friends. What even is CA:CW?

**Monday**

Bucky blinks blearily, not entirely sure why he’s awake hours before his alarm is supposed to go off. He yawns, and when he doesn’t hear anything unusual, he closes his eyes, ready to doze off again, but huffs when a stray elbow catches him in the ribs. 

“Babe,” he mumbles, nuzzling the back of Tony’s head, and tightens the arm he has wrapped around Tony’s chest. “‘S still early, go back to sleep.” 

“Sorry,” Tony whispers back, reaching down to slot his fingers through Bucky’s. “Didn’t mean to wake you up.” 

They lie quietly for a few minutes, still apart from Tony’s thumb stroking over the back of Bucky’s hand, and Bucky slowly, lazily running his nose up and down Tony’s neck. But then Tony twitches, and lets out an aborted noise of discomfort, and Bucky’s instantly on high alert. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, propping himself up on one hand, and gently rolling Tony onto his back with the other. “Are you hurt?” 

Tony looks soft and sleep-rumpled, mostly, and maybe a little paler than normal, though it’s difficult to tell in the dim light. Bucky brushes his hair back, then presses the back of his hand against Tony’s forehead. “It’s not time for your heat yet. Is it? You feelin’ sick?” 

“Not really,” Tony says, and takes Bucky’s hand, moving it to lie just below his belly button. “It’s just my stomach, feels kind of bloated.” He grins, tongue-in-cheek. “Probably from Clint’s chili last night.”

Bucky presses down gently, eyes widening when he’s met with more resistance than expected. Tony’s certainly in shape, especially for a man his age, but he doesn’t usually have washboard abs like Steve or Thor, although it almost feels like it now. His stomach, while not looking any different from what Bucky can tell, is definitely more firm, almost hard. 

And sensitive, if Tony’s sudden, sharp intake of breath is anything to go by. 

Bucky stops moving, and pulls back a little. “Does it hurt?” 

Tony’s shaking his head before Bucky’s even finishes asking his question, arching up shamelessly to push his stomach into the touch. “Keep going, feels nice.” 

“So spoiled,” Bucky accuses, smiling, as if they don’t both know that that’s entirely Bucky’s fault. He leans down to press a wet, open-mouthed kiss to Tony’s hipbone, and lightly strokes both hands up and down Tony’s sides. 

When Tony gasps, he hooks two fingers under the waistband of Tony’s sweats, and arches a questioning eyebrow up at him. Tony nods eagerly. Bucky grins, and goes to work. 

**Tuesday**

“We do have a front door, y’know,” Bucky teases, but he does put down his knife, and wipes his hands on a towel before letting Rhodey pull him into a hug. “It’s this big, rectangular hole at the bottom of the building? That opens when you walk towards it, all on its own? Apparently that’s all the rage these days.”

“You’re hilarious,” Rhodey deadpans, clapping Bucky on the back a couple of times before stepping away. “The landing pad’s easier.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes, and turns back around, pulling another sweet potato onto the cutting board. “Mhm, sure. ‘Cause gettin’ in and out of your armour doesn’t take longer than the actual flight from your apartment to the tower.” Under his breath, but still deliberately loud enough for Rhodey to hear, he adds, “Has nothin’ to do with you bein’ a showoff at all.”

Rhodey has Bucky in a loose headlock, and Bucky’s ranting about cooking etiquette and knife safety when Tony walks into the kitchen. He’s covered in what Bucky hopes is grease or oil, trying and completely failing to look stern with his mouth twitching tellingly, hair sticking up in all directions, and the too long sleeves of one of Bucky’s henleys—which Bucky’s been missing for the last half week—falling down over his hands. 

It’s stupidly adorable, Bucky thinks, and some of that must show on his face, because Rhodey makes a mock disgusted, long-suffering noise under his breath, shoves Bucky away with a hand on his forehead, and goes to hug Tony instead. Bucky laughs, entirely unrepentant, winking at Tony behind Rhodey’s back. 

For a moment, Tony smiles back, eyes twinkling mischievously, but then he suddenly goes pale, before turning faintly green. He practically jumps away from Rhodey, nearly stumbling over his own feet, and covers his mouth and nose with his hands. 

“Tones?” Rhodey sounds concerned, and Bucky is, too. He quickly steps closer to put a steadying hand on Tony’s elbow, asking, “You okay, sweetheart?” 

“Yeah,” Tony croaks, nodding, and when he removes his hands, a normal, healthy colour’s already returning to his cheeks. “Ugh, sorry. I don’t know what that was. I got a whiff of your aftershave, and I just,” he trails off, wincing apologetically at Rhodey. 

Rhodey frowns. “It’s the one I always wear,” he says, craning his neck to sniff his collar. 

Tony shrugs helplessly, leaning into Bucky when Bucky curls an arm around him. “Maybe you’re gettin’ sick after all?” Bucky suggests, and pecks Tony’s cheek when Tony scowls up at him. “You did have that stomach thing yesterday.”

“I’m fine,” Tony insists stubbornly.

Bucky and Rhodey share a pointed look, making Tony huff, cross his arms over his chest, and pout. Bucky reels him in closer, and peppers kisses across his face until Tony scrunches up his nose, and starts pushing at him, laughing softly. 

“How ‘bout,” Bucky says, pressing a final kiss to the tip of Tony’s nose, “you go an’ take a shower, then find a movie for us to watch while Rhodey helps me finish dinner?”

Tony grumbles some more for show, but forty minutes later, he’s happily snuggled up against Bucky’s chest, feet in Rhodey’s lap, munching on his burger and sweet potato fries, and making fun of the shitty science in the movie. 

**Wednesday**

“Communal floor, please,” Steve says, leading Bucky into the elevator, and uses his towel to dab at his damp face.

Bucky hangs his own towel over his shoulders, and fumbles with his hair tie for a moment before getting it loose, and shaking out his hair. He sprays sweat everywhere in the process, grinning when Steve grimaces, shoots him a dirty look, and mumbles, “Asshole,” under his breath.

“Language, Captain,” Bucky chides, and Steve, as usual, groans, throws his hands up in the air, and complains, “You weren’t even there, Buck, you’re not allowed to tease me about this!”

“Watch me,” Bucky shoots back, and then they’re off, squabbling, bickering, shoving, and trying to trip each other on their way to the kitchen. 

Bruce takes one look at them, sighs deeply, and gets up, taking his tea with him. “Keep it down, would you? Tony’s asleep in the den. He looks like he could use the rest.” 

Steve makes an apologetic face. “Sorry.” 

But Bucky frowns, checking the clock on the microwave. It’s only a little after two in the afternoon, and they’d slept in for once—weekends mean nothing in the superhero business—until nearly lunchtime after turning in early the previous night. He grabs a bottle of water out of the fridge, chugging it in only a few big gulps, then goes to check on Tony. 

And, sure enough, Tony’s sacked out on the couch, wrapped up in the thick duvet from their bedroom with only his head peeking out. His hair is a complete mess, as usual, but there are also dark circles under his eyes, and he looks exhausted, even while asleep. Bucky gently rubs his flesh and blood thumb over the skin under one of Tony’s eyes, feeling guilty for not having noticed sooner. 

It makes Tony stir, but Bucky quickly shushes him, running a soothing hand through his hair. “Everything’s fine, babe, go back to sleep.” 

“M’kay,” Tony mumbles, inhaling deeply a few times to get some of Bucky’s Alpha scent, before turning his face into a cushion. 

Steve, having tiptoed closer, peers over the back of the couch, then raises a questioning eyebrow at Bucky, who can only shrug in response. 

He’s still worried when Tony wakes up in time for dinner, but he does look a lot better, and keeps insisting that he was just catching up on sleep. Which, with Tony’s schedule, does make some sense. 

Bucky decides to let it go, but ushers Tony to bed a good hour earlier than usual, anyway. Just to make sure. 

**Thursday**

Tony swallows his mouthful of what Bucky’s pretty sure is [vanilla ice cream with a big portion of the leftover pulled pork](https://www.buzzfeed.com/alivelez/pregnancy-cravings-that-will-make-you-laugh-and-then-vomit?utm_term=.oeWqwLKok#.frxjdNQ7a) from their earlier BBQ, and sighs in obvious bliss, eyes fluttering shut. They snap back open when he goes to load his spoon up again, and discovers his bowl is empty. 

“What,” Bucky demands, and can’t even enjoy Tony’s startled yelp over his growing disgust, “the hell are you doin’?” 

“I, uh. I was hungry?” Tony offers, but he’s looking shifty, clearly knows that this is at least a little weird. “What, is that a crime now?” he asks defensively, protectively pulling his bowl against his chest. “You’re always on my case about not eating enough.” 

Bucky just stares at him until Tony wilts, and averts his eyes. “I wanted a snack, and it seemed like a good idea at the time? And it’s actually not that bad?” 

“Well.” Bucky shifts his weight from one foot to the other, then back again, not sure where to go from here. “If you say so. I think I’ll stick to a sandwich, though.” 

“Whatever,” Tony says, but he’s smiling, relieved, as he hops up onto a stool at the breakfast bar. “I guess I can forgive your culinary deficiencies. If,” he waves his bowl at Bucky, “you get me another one of these.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” Bucky mutters, and flicks the back of Tony’s head on his way to the fridge.

He does fix Tony another bowl, though. 

**Friday**

“—what your problem is, man, but you need to calm down—”

“Don’t tell me to calm down! You calm down!”

“That doesn’t even make sense! Tony, what’re you—hey, no, that’s not fair, you can’t—hey, ow! You asshole!”

“You know what you did, don’t start with me—”

“I have—stop squeezing me, dickbag—I have no idea what it is you think I’ve done, but—”

“Stop lying!”

It’s like walking into the darkest timeline; the coffee table is overturned, popcorn and soda spilled everywhere, the lamp on the floor, one of Clint’s shoes sticking up from behind the TV, and the curtains ripped partially off their rods. 

At least nothing’s on fire. Yet. 

“What the actual fuck do you two knuckleheads think you’re doin’ here?”

Both Clint and Tony freeze at the sound of Bucky’s voice, but Clint doesn’t remove his hands from Tony’s hair, and Tony doesn’t make a move to let Clint go. Neither of them look the slightest bit ashamed, and, for a moment, Bucky considers just walking back out, and leaving whatever this is for someone else to deal with. 

But his Alpha instincts put up a protest against the prospect of leaving his mate in the middle of a fight, never mind that Tony’s more than capable of defending and looking out for himself. And tends to get huffy when Bucky conveniently forgets that. Since Tony seems to be pissed already anyway, though, and it doesn’t look like the situation is about to resolve itself without further collateral damage, Bucky doesn’t feel too bad about stepping in.

“All right, c’mon.” He places his hands on his hips, and quirks an eyebrow. “Cut it out. Clint, let go of Tony. Tony, for fuck’s sake, unwrap Clint.” 

Tony hisses, baring his fangs. “He—”

“I didn’t do shit!” Clint yells, and all but pushes Tony off of him the instant Tony has uncurled his tail from around Clint’s legs. “One second we were watching the game, shooting the shit, and the next he turned all scaly, and went completely berserk!” 

“You drank from my glass!” Tony yells back, and lunges at Clint again, toppling them both back onto the floor. “It was my glass!” 

“That’s what this is about?” Clint asks, incredulous. “Are you serious right now?”

“Screw you!”

“I didn’t mean to, it was an accident. Come on, man, what—”

“You could’ve asked! That’s what normal people, who weren’t raised in a goddamned barn, do before taking—” 

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose, looking heavenward. If there was any of the Catholic upbringing still left in him, he’d be praying for strength right about now. Instead, he grabs Tony by the back of the neck, ignoring his angry cursing and flailing, and pulls him off of Clint. 

With his free hand, he points at Clint. “And you. You know our kind gets territorial sometimes. Which,” he directs at Tony, when Tony shoots Clint a gloating little smile, “doesn’t excuse any of this bullshit. Clint, ask before touching his stuff. We’ve talked about this. Tony, remember that Clint’s an idiot, and doesn’t do half the crap he does on purpose.” 

“Hey,” Clint objects, but it’s weak. He gets up, stretches, and cracks his neck. “Whatever, man. Tony, I’m sorry I accidentally took a sip from your glass, please forgive me, yadda yadda.” 

Tony glares some more, before slumping. Eyes fixed on the floor, he admits, so quiet is barely audible, “I might have overreacted.” 

“Little bit, dude, yeah.” Clint grins, and holds his hand out for a fist bump. “Friends again?” 

“Obviously,” Tony sniffs, haughty, but he does bump Clint’s fist. 

Clint nods, still grinning widely. “Okay, I’m out of here. If Cap asks about the chaos, tell him I was never here.” 

“You okay?” Bucky asks, once Clint is gone, rubbing a hand up and down Tony’s back. 

In answer, Tony tucks his face into the crook of Bucky’s neck, mouth open against Bucky’s skin, breathing him in. Bucky tugs him in close, holding him tight, and rests his cheek against the top of Tony’s head, gently swaying them from side to side. 

“I just,” Tony mumbles mulishly, a few minutes later, his face still hidden away. “He got on my nerves all afternoon, and the glass thing was just the last straw. It was stupid, I know that, I really do. But I couldn’t help it, I felt—I felt protective over that glass. It was mine. And he was touching it.” 

“It’s a very nice glass,” Bucky offers, laughing when Tony pinches his side. “An’ this isn’t nearly as bad as the glitter and glue incident last month.” He pauses, then adds, “I don’t know why we even let the two of you be alone in a room together. It never ends well.” 

“Clint’s a dick,” Tony grumbles, but it’s without heat.

“Wanna go swim for a while?” Bucky asks, kissing the side of Tony’s head. “Work off some steam? I feel like shiftin’, too.”

Tony smiles, and presses a kiss to the sensitive spot behind Bucky’s ear. “Sounds like a plan.” 

Bucky lets him nuzzle for a moment, then says, teasing, “After we clean up here, of course.”

Tony groans dramatically. “Ass.”

**Saturday**

“Thank you, Tony,” Pepper says, smiling, when Tony puts a plate piled high with every greasy food the brunch buffet has to offer in front of her. She pats her swollen stomach, and Bucky’d always thought that thing about pregnant women having a glow about them was bullshit, but it’s definitely true for her. “It feels like all I do anymore is eat, sleep, and cry.” 

Happy very carefully doesn’t say anything, but one corner of his mouth curls upwards, giving him away. Pepper huffs, and swats at him. “Oh, shut it, you. This is all your fault, now you have to live with the consequences.” 

“Not complaining,” Happy says, and takes her hand, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of it. 

Tony pulls a face at them, because he is a forty year old child, then winces when Pepper, presumably, kicks him under the table. Bucky shares a commiserating glance with Happy, who just shrugs, and rolls his eyes a little, clearly fond.

“So,” Bucky says, leaning back, and draping an arm over the back of Tony’s chair. “Gettin’ anywhere with the name?” 

“Grace,” Pepper says, at the same time as Happy says, “Emma.” 

“That’s a no, then?” Tony asks dryly. Then, eyes lightening up, he suggests, “How about—”

“Not Antonia,” Happy and Pepper say in unison, before turning to grin at each other. 

Tony gasps, all feigned betrayal, and presses a hand to his chest. “Words can hurt, you know.” 

Brows arched challengingly, he reaches across the table, snags a piece of baked brie off Pepper’s plate, and pops it into his mouth. He chews obnoxiously for a few seconds, smug and satisfied with himself, then suddenly stills, face scrunching up. 

Before anyone has the chance to ask what’s wrong, Tony pushes back his chair, and quickly puts his hand over his mouth when he starts gagging. Everyone stills, waiting with held breath, but then Tony shakes his head, says, “Nope,” from behind his hand, and takes off in the direction of the bathroom. 

Bucky’s right behind him, locking the bathroom door while Tony falls to his knees in front of the toilet, and starts retching. Wincing in sympathy, Bucky grabs some paper towels out of the dispenser, wets them, and then goes to crouch next to Tony, pressing a few of the them against the back of his neck. Tony makes a grateful little noise, before cutting himself off with a groan, clutching at the toilet seat when the next wave of nausea hits. 

“Fuck,” he croaks, once he's done, sitting back. 

“Here.” Bucky hands him the remaining towels so he can wipe his mouth, and brushes the sweaty hair away from his forehead. “Feelin’ better?” 

Closing his eyes, Tony leans back against Bucky, breathing in and out deeply a few times before answering. “Little bit.” He grimaces, and throws the balled up towels into the toilet. “Wow, that sucked.” 

“Any idea what that was all about?” Bucky asks, standing, and gently pulling Tony back to his feet as well. “Was the cheese bad?” 

“I don’t think so?” Tony shrugs, moving over to the sink to rinse his mouth. Once done, he continues, “It tasted fine.”

Bucky gestures around the bathroom, skeptical. “Doesn’t look fine.” 

Tony hangs his head, and sighs, before meeting Bucky’s eyes through the mirror. “I feel okay now,” he insists, but holds up a hand when Bucky opens his mouth to argue. “But I’ll have Helen take a look at me if things are still off on Monday. I’m not calling her in on a weekend because of a stomach bug that’s probably going to resolve itself in the next twenty-four hours.” 

“I don’t like it,” Bucky says, stepping up behind Tony. He wraps his arms around his waist, and rests his chin on his shoulder. “But I guess I can live with that. We’re callin’ her if you puke again, though.”

“Such a worrier,” Tony huffs, acting put out, but there’s a pleased flush to his cheeks. “Okay, deal.” 

Bucky gives him a careful squeeze, and kisses the side of his head. “Deal,” he agrees. 

**Sunday**

If it were up to Bucky, he wouldn’t leave Tony’s side after the incident at brunch yesterday. But Tony’d put a quick end to his annoying, unnecessary, Alpha-dumb—to quote Tony—hovering, and gone to swim a few laps by himself after sending Bucky off to his weekly bro date—again, quoting Tony—with Sam. 

“—and then I sprouted real wings, and flew off into the sun.”

Bucky blinks, looking up from his phone to stare at Sam. “What?” 

“Oh, so you are listening,” Sam says, pointed. “I must’ve gotten confused because you’ve been staring at your phone for the last ten minutes. My bad.” 

“Ex-fucking-cuse me for worryin’ about my mate,” Bucky grumbles, but he does put his phone away. Then takes it out again, and makes sure the volume is up, before shoving it back into his pocket. “Shut up,” he tells Sam, who, of course, isn’t even nice enough to try and hide the fact that he’s laughing at Bucky. 

Sam just sips his coffee, looking amused. Because he’s an asshole. 

“Do we need to talk about how you lost your shit when Stevie fell outta that chopper, ‘cause if I remember correctly, you—”

“That was completely different,” Sam insists, glaring. “He had a punctured lung.” 

Bucky clucks his tongue dismissively. “It’s Steve. He has a punctured lung, or several broken bones, or a concussion that’d kill a regular human every other week.”

They both pause while they let that sink in. Bucky’s the one who bursts out laughing first, but Sam isn’t far behind, shaking his head in disbelief. “Man, what even are our lives these days?” 

“Tell me ‘bout it,” Bucky snorts. He grabs another handful of bird food from the bag sitting on the bench between him and Sam, throwing it close to the group of pigeons watching them. “Caw caw.” 

Sam cackles. The pigeons keep watching them, slowly inching closer. Before they reach the food, though, Bucky’s phone goes off, and they scatter in a panic, cooing angrily. 

“Aw,” Sam says sadly, frowning after them. 

Bucky fishes out his phone, heart skipping a beat when he sees that it’s Tony calling. He firmly tells himself to not be ridiculous, takes a slow, steadying breath, and answers, as casually as he can manage, “Heya, sweetheart. What’s up?” 

There’s a too long beat of silence, and yep, there’s Bucky’s anxiety again. “Tony? Hey, are you all right, babe?” 

_“Uhm.”_ Tony doesn’t sound hurt, at least, but Bucky can immediately tell that something’s wrong by the way he hesitates. Again. _“So, uh, no rush, but could you, maybe, come back early? And bring Sam? And have him bring his first aid kit?”_

Bucky’s instantly on his feet, impatiently gesturing for Sam to get a move on. “Not gonna lie, you’re scarin’ me here. Are you—”

_“Oh, yeah, no. I’m fine. No, really,”_ Tony says, and Bucky can hear him smile, _“I am. It’s nothing bad. I think? I mean, we’ve only ever talked about this in really vague terms, but I don’t think you’re going to hate it. Or, well, I hope you won’t? Great, okay, now I’m starting to freak out, which, wow, so not the reason I should be freaking out right now, but—”_

“Tony, hey, breathe.” Bucky listens to Tony inhale shakily, then breathe out again a little more calmly. “That’s it, you’re doin’ so good, you’re doin’ great.”

For some reason, that makes Tony laugh. It’s a little shrill, nearly drowning out his whispered, _“Oh my god, you have no idea what you just said.”_

Sam, in the meantime, has managed to flag down a cab, waving Bucky over now. Bucky slides into the backseat gratefully. “Tony? We’re on our way, ten more minutes. Are you alone? Is there anyone else home?” 

_“I, ah. I don’t really want anyone else here?”_

“Okay, seriously, what’s happenin’ with—”

_“Shit, there’s more? I gotta go—”_

“Tony, don’t you dare—”

_“Just, get here. Please.”_

Bucky pulls the phone away from his ear with shaking fingers after Tony ends the call. He doesn’t notice his prosthetic hand is gripping the door handle tight enough to dent it until Sam discreetly taps his knuckles. “Fuck.” 

“JARVIS would’ve alerted the medical staff, or the rest of the team if something bad was happening,” Sam reasons, which does help, if only a little. “Right?” 

“Right.” Bucky nods, mostly to himself. “Right.”

He does jump out of the cab before it even comes to a full stop, though, running for the door. He forgoes the elevator in favour of the stairs, startling one of the janitors. “Sorry!” he calls over his shoulder but doesn’t stop until he reaches his and Tony’s floor, at which point he realises he has no idea where Tony even is. 

“Jay, where—” 

_“Sir is in the lagoon, Sergeant Barnes. He requests your presence.”_

Bucky races across the living room, into Tony’s office, then through the hidden door into the formerly secret, artificial lagoon area. “Tony? Where are you? Are you—what the fuck?”

Tony, fully shifted and lying on the sandy shore, cringes, curling in on himself, and around the—the egg? 

“What the fuck?” Bucky repeats as he slowly inches closer, eyes flitting between Tony’s sheepish face and the—yes, that’s definitely an egg. “Tony, what the fuck?” 

“You sound like a broken record.” It’s supposed to sound teasing, joking, but Tony’s obviously nervous, voice shaking ever so slightly. 

That’s enough to snap Bucky out of his shock. “No, hey, that’s not—I’m surprised, is all.” 

Tony’s shoulders lose some of their tension. He chuckles, hoarse. “Yeah, tell me about it.” 

After another moment of open-mouthed staring—this is unusual, even for them, sue him—Bucky shakes himself, and begins to shuck his clothes. He’s shifted when he reaches Tony, and wraps his tail around Tony’s, reassuring, eyes never leaving the egg. He lets his hand hover over it, awed. “Can I—?” 

“Go for it.” Tony’s smiling for real, now, eyes warm and soft. Then, smile morphing into a grin, he says, “It’s yours, you know, daddy.” 

“Dumbass,” Bucky says absently, preoccupied with—with his kid, hell. 

He, very gently, cups a hand over the egg, carefully stroking along its curve with his thumb. It’s surprisingly warm, pulsing a little, and Bucky can’t help but smile, too, finally looking up at Tony. “Babe! We made this!” 

Tony preens. “Yeah, we did. Actually—” 

“Honestly,” comes Sam’s voice from the door, eyes wide, brows up, “I don’t know how much help I’ll be, here. Congrats, though.” 

Bucky beams at him. “Thank you.” 

“Maybe you could just,” Tony waves his hand around, “check them? There probably should be heartbeats, right?” 

“Yeah, that sounds about right. I can certainly try, we’ll just have to—”

“Wait, wait,” Bucky interrupts. “Them?” 

Tony lifts his tail, revealing four more eggs. Sam chokes on a laugh. Bucky feels a little faint, all of a sudden. 

*

“So,” Sam sums up, half an hour later, “neither of you knew this could happen?” 

“Both my parents were human,” Tony says, head on Bucky’s shoulder while Bucky cradles all five—perfectly healthy, as far as Sam can tell—eggs in his lap. “Apparently, everyone thought the Nāga lineage of the family had died out generations ago until I came along.” 

“My mother was human,” Bucky explains, “so no egg-laying in my family. My father died early, an’ none of my sister inherited the Nāga genes. Pretty much figured everythin’ out on my own as I went.” 

Sam eyeballs him, then glances down at the eggs. “Not everything, it looks like.” 

Bucky flicks some sand at him with his tail. “Shut up.” 

“Careful,” Tony hisses, reaching for the eggs. “And don’t fight in front of the children.” 

“I don’t think they’re far enough along to catch it yet, sweetheart,” Bucky says, amused, but helps Tony transfer two of the eggs into his own lap. 

“That’s the thing, though,” Sam says, thoughtful. “We don’t really know, do we? They have heartbeats, yes, they’re all warm, and none of them have any cracks or fissures, but that’s all I can tell you. You sure there’s no one else you could ask, someone who,” he chuckles under his breath, as if he can’t believe what he’s saying, “actually knows anything about the procreation habits of mythical, aquatic snake people?” 

“Our kind’s pretty rare these days,” Bucky sighs, running a finger along some of the patterns on one of the eggs. “Didn’t even know there was anyone else before I met Tony. I doubt there’s more.” 

Tony coughs awkwardly. “Actually,” he says, “I might’ve had JARVIS call someone already?” When both Bucky and Sam only look at him, expectant, he winces, but goes on, “He’s not one of us, per se, but he’s probably our best option, especially on short notice. He is Atlantean, after all, and we did help him out with those freaky mutant sharks, so he still owes us one—”

“No.” Bucky glowers at Tony, and seriously considers pushing him over into the water, for all the good that would do. “No fuckin’ way, I hate that guy.” 

“Bucky, honey—”

“He’s such an asshole, though,” Bucky whines, but he knows Tony’s right.

And Tony knows that Bucky knows, because he looks apologetic as he runs a soothing hand through Bucky’s hair. “You can always mock his clothes, if worst comes to worst.” 

“Damn straight,” Bucky mutters. He would’ve done that anyway. “Who runs around in a speedo all day, anyway? Gill-breathing dick.” 

*

“Somewhat small,” Namor concludes, peering closely at the egg in his hand. Bucky has to restrain himself from snatching it away. And punching Namor in his dumb, pointy face for good measure. Namor brings the egg up to his ear, listening intently for a couple of moments. “Otherwise in good health. Strong.” 

Bucky does grab the egg, then, protectively holding it in the crook of his arm. “Great, thanks, now go away.” 

“What’s the incubation time?” Sam asks, the traitor, completely ignoring Bucky. “I’m assuming the environment is suitable, considering Tony built it for himself?”

Namor looks around the lagoon critically. “It will do.” 

Bucky bristles. Tony takes his free hand, and squeezes his fingers, before turning to Namor. Excitedly, he asks, “So. How long until they hatch?” 

Reluctantly, Bucky hands the egg back over when Namor gestures for it. He examines it again, and Bucky nearly loses his shit when he taps it. Fucking taps it! 

Tony elbows him sharply, but he sounds like he’s trying not to laugh when he whispers, “He’s not going to scramble our kid, relax.” 

“Just so you know, I’m puttin’ a ban on egg puns right now,” Bucky tells him, entirely serious. 

Tony pouts at him. “Spoilsport.” 

“My estimation would be twelve to fourteen weeks,” Namor says, drawing their attention again. “Although it is difficult to tell. I have known few of your kind in my time.” 

“Okay, wait.” Tony twitches a little, nervously petting the eggs he has cradled in the loop of his tail. “You’re saying we’re going to be parents in, what? Three months? That’s a third of the time I was expecting! We’re not prepared! Why don’t we get nine months?” 

Namor looks supremely unimpressed. “You are not human.” 

“But!” Tony flails around. “Five?” 

“Ah, yes. A small litter,” Namor says, nodding. His lips curl, clearly disapproving. “Not much of a surprise, considering the parentage. An anomaly and a half-breed, I—” 

“Oh, you fuckin’ hypocrite!” Bucky explodes. He has the good sense to hand his egg over to Sam before shoving Namor in the chest, hard. It’s satisfying how offended the bastard looks. “Your father was human, in case you conveniently forgot ‘bout that again.” 

There’s a long moment of silence. Then, Namor sniffs, and turns around, head held high. “It might be best if I take my leave now.”

“Goodbye, your majesty,” Bucky mocks.

“Always a pleasure to see you, buddy,” Tony adds. 

Sam, both hands cupped over the egg’s sides, says, “No fighting in front of the children. Come on, guys.” 

_“Sir,”_ JARVIS pipes up, timing as uncanny as always. _“The Atlantean convoy wishes to know where to leave their gifts.”_

Tony perks up at that. “Gifts?” 

_“Traditional Atlantean children’s clothing—”_

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Great, tiny speedos.”

_“—gems, and approximately fifty kilograms of fresh shrimp.”_

Sam collapses, laughing, and even Bucky has to grin at that. “Such a weirdo.” 

Tony shrugs, unconcerned, and suggests, “Paella party?” 

**Friday (eleven weeks later)**

Exhaustion is etched into every line of Tony’s face, and Bucky knows that he himself doesn’t look any better, but he can’t remember ever having been happier in his entire life. He scoots a little closer to Tony, brushing some of the sand off Tony’s stomach. On Tony’s chest, Eloise wiggles, tiny rosebud mouth pursing, before opening in a yawn. 

There’s collective cooing from everyone close enough to see. 

Tony bends down to drop a kiss on her head, chuckling softly when she happily swishes her tail. “Hey, pretty girl.” 

“They’re all pretty,” Steve says decisively. He gently rocks Augustus in his arms, stroking the tip of one finger over the dark red and gold scales on his cheeks. “The prettiest. Yes, you are, so pretty.” 

Pepper, sitting with her feet in the water, her own daughter in her lap, looks a little dreamy. “I miss her being that age,” she sighs wistfully, tickling Emma-Grace’s belly. 

Clint raises an eyebrow at her. “She’s nine weeks old.” 

“Still,” Pepper sniffs. Happy consolingly pats her shoulder.

“You’re all baby crazy,” Clint accuses, as if he hasn’t glared anyone who’s tried to pry Rosalie out of his arms so far into submission. 

Bucky shares an amused look with Tony. Not that he blames Clint; they do, indeed, have the best, smartest, prettiest babies. Bucky can say as much, entirely without bias. 

There’s a splash from the of the pool, followed by Thor’s booming laugh. He has, thankfully, decided to wade a little deeper into the water, since, apparently, the Æsir aren’t big on bathing attire. And Bucky can do without Tony’s knowing smirks whenever his eyes catch on some of Thor’s ridiculous muscles for a beat too long.

Thor’s smiling hugely down at Victor, big hands helping him float on his back, praising, “Very good,” while Rhodey watches them closely, ready to jump in if necessary. 

On one of the towels, Natasha is holding Theodore, not moving a muscle, looking as scared as Bucky’s ever seen her. Bruce and Sam are kneeling next to her, Sam helping her adjust her grip, while Bruce rubs her back reassuringly. 

Bucky narrows his eyes at them. “Are they?”

“All Bruce does whenever I bring it up is blush,” Tony says, waggling his eyebrows. “Which I’m assuming is a yes.” 

“Go Nat,” Bucky whistles lowly, making Tony laugh, and Eloise fuss unhappily. He quickly scoops her up, apologising, nuzzling her hair, and making shushing noises. “‘M sorry, darlin’, shh. Daddy’s sorry, he didn’t mean it. Everything’s okay, you’re fine, sweet girl.” 

Eloise, always the most complacent between the five of them, settles easily when Bucky tucks her against his neck, letting her scent him. She snuffles a little, then seemingly decides that Bucky will do for now, and promptly falls asleep. 

Proud, Bucky glances over at Tony, not expecting the soft, open look on his face. “What?” 

“I love you,” Tony says, face flushed. “So much.” 

Bucky’s answering smile is undoubtedly sappy, but he doesn’t care one bit. “Love you, too,” he says, and leans in for a deep, lingering kiss. “All of you.”

Eloise, of course, chooses that moment to pee all down Bucky’s chest and stomach.

Not that it changes anything.

**Author's Note:**

> There's a reblogable version of this [here](http://potrix-the-queerschlaeger.tumblr.com/post/167431489803/tony-and-the-terrible-horrible-no-good-very-bad) on tumblr. 
> 
> Go check out my other [work](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/works), or come over and say hi on [tumblr](http://potrix-the-queerschlaeger.tumblr.com).


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